The Fire of Dragons
by Rennington
Summary: The Dragon Queen is taken with the Northern Wolf, but they have battles to fight and wars to win. They can not afford distractions. Begins with the last two episodes of season seven and will then continue past the show.
1. Chapter 1 - Alone at Dragonstone

The Fire of Dragons

Chapter One - Alone at Dragonstone

Daenerys

She couldn't sleep. She lay awake in her opulent chambers on Dragonstone, her heart racing and her stomach in her throat. When she closed her eyes, her mind filled with visions of ice, rotting corpses, and dark hair sinking into cold waters.

She hated being left behind. She had never been good at hiding, protected, while her men carried out her orders. But she knew it was an unnecessary risk for her to travel North now. While a specimen of the undead might prove useful, there was no way to know what the outcome would be. It would be foolish to risk her own life for a minor bit of leverage. She knew that.

She also knew that none of the men traveling North held very much strategic value. Pragmatically, they would not be a crushing loss. Jon Snow was right - it might be easier if she didn't have to deal with the King in the North.

The thought made her stomach turn. She couldn't explain why, but the thought of losing the brooding Northerner was something she could not bare. Despite her frustration with his unwillingness to fold to her wishes, she truly had grown used to him. He was good, in a way men rarely were. He had kind eyes, warm, like a hot drink at the end of a long day. And he was strong — honest — unwilling to betray his people even if it might be the clever thing to do.

If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that she had been unsettled ever since he had arrived at Dragonstone. He had not been what she had expected, and whenever he was in the room she felt an inexplicable pull towards him. She could not account for why a Northern traitor affected her so; she only knew she sought his approval more than might be strictly considered wise.

She sighed and rolled over. Her mind filled again with images of dark hair and brooding eyes, but now the images were soft and warm. She fell asleep dreaming of a dark stranger from the North.

After her fraught discussion with her hand, she stood looking North over the water. She felt guilty about the accusations she had thrown in Lord Tyrion's face. He was right, of course, she really should think about her successor, her position would never be solid if she had no heir. Whenever she thought about it, she felt a sinking sadness that she would never know the joy of motherhood. She loved her dragons, but her heart ached for Rheago and the other children she would never have.

She pictured children with curly dark hair and lilac eyes; teaching them the history of her family, taking them on her dragons. They would be great rulers, with the blood of old Valyria coursing through their veins.

"Your Grace" Missandei's voice broke her reverie, "We've had word from Casterly Rock".

Daenerys turned towards her and gave a forced smile, "excellent, what news?"

"They will be ready to depart within a week, and will be able to reach King's Landing in time for the Parlay with the Lannisters."

"That is good news." She responded, "and Grey Worm? He is well?"

"Yes, your Grace." replied Missandei, looking down. "He will lead the troops on their return march."

"You're looking forward to seeing him again," it was not a question.

"Yes, your Grace."

Daenerys smiled "Yes, I can imagine you would be. Hopefully you can find some time together before we face the night King. Perhaps I will insist he travel with us, to help with plans."

"If you think it would be wise."

They were silent for a moment, looking out over the water. Daenerys thought about the battles they would have to fight. She realized she would need to make plans, that she could not afford many more mistakes.

"What do you think of this King in the North? Does he seem a worthy ally to you?"

"I do not know that I am the best person to ask such things. I know little of strategy and war," replied Missandei.

"The man then, does he seem a good man?"

Her adviser looked at her knowingly. "He does, your Grace, and a very handsome one as well."

Daenerys did not respond to this. While she would admit to herself that the King in the North was not unattractive, she had no intention to gossip about his looks.

"He seems to care about his people, and appears to be steadfast and honest. These are good traits, as I see them. He has honor," said Dany, "but I worry that he will be too loyal to his word, and will not surrender the North when the time comes. How can I trust someone in open rebellion?"

"He has not rebelled against you, your grace. He has declared independence from the Mad Queen who sits on the Iron Throne. The same Queen you hope to overthrow. You share an enemy, and that is as strong a basis as many military alliances are formed upon. In this case, you seem to share more than just a mutual hatred for the Lannisters."

"You make a good point, perhaps it would be wise to ally with him until Cersei can be dealt with, and then face the issue of the North once I hold the Iron Throne."

"So you believe him then, about the threat north of the Wall?"

"I am not sure. I have seen some things that make me think he may be telling the truth, and I am hardly one to hold firm to the idea of 'impossible,' but the thought of an army of the dead still feels like a story told to children. Perhaps this mission Jon Snow and Ser Jorah have undertaken will reveal the truth of it."

"I hope so, your Grace."

A few days later, Daenerys and Tyrion were discussing contingency plans for the meeting with his sister when Lord Varys entered the chamber, carrying a raven scroll. His face was grim, his eyes downcast. There was an urgency to his pace that caused the discussion to halt mid-sentence.

"What is it?" demanded Daenerys, her heart rising into her throat.

"News from the wall, it just arrived," replied Varys, though his face gave away no clue as to what the note contained. She knew immediately that it could not be good news, they would not have risked a raven being intercepted if everything were going to plan.

Her mind raced. She tried to imagine what the worst news could be, so that she might brace herself for it. She did not want to appear unduly emotional. If Jorah had been killed it would certainly be a blow, though she had grown used to the idea that he might not live for them to see each other again. Her mind drifted then to Davos, who while a good man, held little strategic value. If it were — she needed to just open it. Guessing would not help.

She swallowed — stealing herself — and read it.

 _The men who travelled North of the wall have been set upon by the army of the dead. They are trapped. If they do not receive aid soon, they will surely parish. Please send help._

 _Davos Seaworth_

 _Eastwatch_

She let out a small gasp, and raised her hand to her mouth. She reread the note twice before passing it silently to her hand. Her mind raced. There was no way to send men North fast enough to be of help. It was too late. She never should have sent them alone, should have insisted that they bring Dothraki with them. Or at least horses. If they'd had horses, they could not have been caught by foot soldiers.

"What do you wish to do, your Grace?" asked her Hand.

"What is there to be done? They are so far away, and it must have taken days for the raven to reach us. They are likely already dead," the thought felt like a hot knife in the gut.

"I agree, there is likely nothing to be done. While it is unfortunate that we will not have anything to show my sister, it is not such a great loss. We still have the Dothraki, most of the unsullied, and your dragons. It will be worth our while to show her the true force you have, hopefully we can negotiate so that fewer lives may be lost. Though I doubt it"

Daenerys turned towards him, firing shining in her eyes. "Not a great loss? Not a great loss? You call the death of loyal advisers and friends, in a cold, barren, wasteland, not a great loss?"

She thought for a moment. She saw Rheagal and Veserion wheeling through the air and diving over the cliffs. She was struck with an idea.

"I must go, if I take Drogon I can be there by noon tomorrow. I will bring the others as well."

The others in the room stared at her in silence, wide-eyed.

"I would advise against that, you are far too valuable. We cannot risk —" Tyrion was silenced with a harsh glance from his Queen.

"I do not require your permission, Lord Tyrion," she said imperiously. Turning, she left the council chamber and headed swiftly tabards her dressing room to change for the cold ride North.

She could not be sure why she had chosen this rash path. She knew that there was little strategic method to flying north in haste at the moment. She would do better to focus on Queen Cersei. The Unsullied would return soon, and they could easily begin a siege on King's Landing within the month. She could not just leave them there, though. They were loyal and true and she could not lose him — them.


	2. Chapter 2 - In the North

Chapter Two

In the North

Jon

Jon was cold. Colder than he could ever remember being. His breath froze in the air in front of him. His eyes and lungs burned. He knew that none of them could survive this much longer. Even they somehow avoided being killed by the Night King and his army, they would die of exposure.

He longed for the warmth of the halls of Winterfell, for the mild southern winter of Dragonstone, even the comparative balminess of the North in the summer. He took stock of the situation. There were five of them, surrounded by an army of thousands. Once the lake froze over, they would be able to last five minutes. Maybe ten. Even if they did, by some miracle, escape this situation, they would still be facing this threat in the not-too-distant future.

The future held nothing but terrors. If the army of the dead ever made it south of the wall, it was likely all of The Seven Kingdoms would be lost. His brother and sisters would be turned into foot soldiers with no mind of their own. The wildlings who trusted him would be slaughtered. Even Daenerys and her dragons might fall, if they did not flee.

An image of the dragon queen with shining blue eyes and rotting, ice cold skin filled his mind for a moment. His breath froze. No. That could not happen. They would fight. They would win. They had to.

He could not think about her. The war was the only thing that mattered now, and she was not coming. He had imagined her flying in to their rescue, but as the days passed it became clear that was only a fantasy. They were out of time.

The man called the Hound was idly throwing rocks at the wights. He wished he wouldn't it would not help to aggravate them unnecessarily; to break them out of their holding pattern. One of the rocks skidded short on the lake. It was frozen. The wait was over. The enemy was advancing.

The shock of the icy water had been like hot needles against his skin. He had no idea how he had managed to get to the surface and pull himself back out. But he had, somehow. Then, out of the advancing army came his Uncle, like a phantom. Jon barely had time to process that the man he had thought dead for years was before him before he was riding away on a cold dark horse. He did not remain conscious long; the cold and the exhaustion claiming him as he slumped forward over the reins.

The next time he was aware of his surroundings he was buried in warm furs. The bed he was on rocked gently from side to side. He opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh light. As the room came slowly into focus he saw that there was someone sitting by the bed.

Framed in the white light from the window was Daenerys. The cold winter light on her silver hair created a halo around her. As she came into focus his breath caught. She was so beautiful. He had never seen someone so beautiful. She seemed to glow like starlight, he couldn't tear his eyes away. His fingers longed to reach out and touch her.

She looked at him, her eyes were soft, warm, and sad. She looked like she might have been crying. Guilt and shame welled up inside him. He should never have agreed to this foolish mission. He should never have gone after those wights once she had arrived. If he had just joined her atop the largest dragon, the other might still be alive. What a fool he was. What a stupid, arrogant boy. What had he been thinking?

He knew, of course, what had motivated him in that moment. He had seen the wights approaching, and an instinctive need to protect had flooded his mind. He had rarely felt such a drive before - perhaps only when he heard what that Bolton bastard had done to his sister. Even then, it was more tempered, less immediate.

Looking at her now, he could see the consequences of his actions. She had not only lost one of her greatest assets, but also a creature he knew she valued like family. He thought about how he would feel if Ghost were killed trying to protect him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said, his voice rough from disuse and fatigue.

She shook her head slightly, but she began to cry. His heart nearly broke. Without thinking about it, he reached for her. He pulled her hand down to bed, and squeezed it in a way he hoped would be comforting.

She looked at him, and he continued. He told her that he could take it back if he could, that it was a mistake. He expected her to be angry. To blame him. Maybe she would fall apart. Yell. Cry. Hit him.

He was expecting the worst and her reaction surprised him; after gathering her composure, she pulled her hand back and told him that she was not sorry. That she was glad she had seen the army of the dead.

"You have to see it to know, now I know." He was glad that she understood, and was about to tell her has much, when she continued, "The dragons are my children, they're the only children I'll ever have. Do you understand?"

Her eyes looked at him imploringly, looking for assurance that he would accept this. He nodded, considering her words. She meant that she could not bear children. This explained why she called herself the Mother of Dragons; why she held such maternal fondness for the beasts.

His eyes shifted from her face to her abdomen. He had never really considered having children. He had always been so horrified by the idea of fathering a bastard, and then so consumed with thoughts of war and duty, that the thought was quite novel.

"We are going to destroy the Night King and his army," said Daenerys, her face hardening into a look of determination, "and we'll do it together."

It was more than he had hoped for.

"Thank you, Dany," the familiar name fell from his lips without thought. He could not remember even thinking about her as anything less than Daenerys since they had met. But in this moment, with her looking so beautiful and vulnerable, it seemed to fit better.

She was saying something. Admonishing him for taking the liberty of using the nickname. He had to admit it had been disrespectful. She deserved respect. She was sacrificing so much for him and his people. He had so thoroughly underestimated her before; she was not some spoiled child demanding fealty because she believed it was hers by right. No, she was a great, kind, generous leader who would be invaluable in the wars to come. She was all he could ever hope for in a Queen - she was certainly better than any of the Kings that had held the Iron Throne in his lifetime.

"Alright, not Dany then," he paused. He was not sure what he was about to say next was wise, but he knew it was right, "how about my Queen.

"I'd bend the knee, but…" he tried to joke, suddenly uncomfortable with her gaze.

"What about those who swore allegiance to you?"

He had not expected the question, although he should have. He should have known that she had listened and understood his reticence before. His answer was obvious.

"They'll all come to see you for what you are," as I have, he added silently.

He could see that she was affected by this, her breath quivered and she slipped her hand back into his. This time he noticed the warmth of her skin. He could feel the fire burning within her. It indicated a strength and vitality that was at somehow both at odds with the softness of her hand and perfectly fitting.

He ran his fingers over her knuckles, the light touch sending unexpected sparks up his arm.

"I hope I deserve it," she whispered, her voice full of emotion.

"You do," he responded. She deserved everything - more than he could give her. She deserved the Kingdom, yes, but she also deserved peace, happiness, and love. In that moment, despite all he knew they had left to face, he believed they could have that.

She gazed at him with a look he could not quite name. When she went to pull her hand away, he was not ready to let go. He wanted to extend this quiet moment as long as he could. Her eyes moved from their entwined hands to his face, and he could feel the air shift. He saw dawning realization in her eyes -- the look frightened him, but he did not pull away.

"You should get some rest," she whispered, letting go of his hand and looking away from him for the first time since he had awoken. He had to blink back the sudden wave of disappointment that came over him. He did not know what he had expected, but he felt the ting of rejection all the same.

He closed his eyes and waited for her to leave the cabin. Once she was gone, he stared blankly at the ceiling. Only now did he notice his racing heart and the tension throughout his body. His stomach was coiled, as though he were waiting for an attack. Something had shifted, and he prayed he was not the only one that sensed it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daenerys

She walked back to her own cabin in a daze. She barely noticed Davos and Tyrion looking at her as she passed. She did not speak to them, but nodded to let them know she was alright.

As she entered the fine cabin, she let out a shaky breath. She sank down onto the edge of the plush, fur lined bed, and glanced around. She could feel her heart racing, her breath was ragged. She felt like the whole world had somehow tipped over.

The look she had seen in Jon Snow's eyes as he called her his Queen, and then again as he refused to let go of her hand, had shaken her more than she wanted to admit. She knew that she had felt an attraction to him for weeks before he left Dragonstone. She had tried to ignore it, and had been somewhat successful. War was no time for idle attractions and dalliances, especially with traitors who called themselves King.

But now she knew she could not ignore it, not without out and out lying to herself, and that would be even less practical than acknowledging her attraction to him. It was more than just attraction. She knew that now. She had been despondent when they returned to the wall without him. She had been heartbroken about Viserion, of course she had, but the knowledge that the sacrifice of her dragon hadn't been enough to save him had been somehow worse.

So when she saw him approaching, frozen nearly solid on the back of that horse, she had nearly collapsed. Her heart had been in her throat, waiting to find out if was alive. When they had finally allowed her to see him, she barely noticed the scars on his chest - she was so relieved to see him breathing.

By the time he had woken up, she had almost convinced herself that her concern had been political. Now that she knew about the threat in beyond the wall, and alliance with the North was paramoun, despite any other ambitions she might have. This lie, however, came crashing down when he touched her hand. She found herself telling him she could not have children - partly as an attempt to put distance between them, partly to gauge his reaction.

The conversation did not go how she had expected. She had planned to offer her help, whatever she could do, without anything in return. That he thought her worthy to be his Queen was humbling in a way she had not before experienced. She needed to prove him right.

And the way he'd said it. For a moment she almost believed he meant to take her as his Queen, not bend the knee, but make her Queen in the North. The fact that that outcome might have been preferable in that moment frightened her. Then later, when he did not release her hand, she realized that he might be thinking the same.

She'd had to escape. It had been too much. She had too much to think about. If she were younger and more carefree, she might now drift into slumber to thoughts of running her hands through curly dark hair - or even called in Missandei to talk the night away. But she was not as carefree as that, and the thought of what now seemed truly inevitable filled her with unease


	3. Chapter 3 - The Return South

The Fire of Dragons

Chapter Three - The Return South

Daenerys

The trip from Eastwatch to Dragonstone was slow. Both in absolute terms and as a result of Dany's impatience. She had grown used to the swiftness of Drogon, and a part of her itched to mount her dragon and be done with the trip in a day.

She was also bored; being cooped up made her restless. She did not have any of her trusted advisors and friends to lean on. Tyrion and Missandei were waiting away in the South. While she recognized the wisdom and kindness in Ser Davos, she did not know him well, and was not comfortable showing her weaknesses to him. It was lovely to have Jorah back, but she felt a disconnect from him, as though something of their previous closeness had been lost.

The one person on the ship she truly wished to talk to was also the one person she had been actively trying to avoid. Ever since their conversation at his bedside, Dany flushed with something akin to embarrassment whenever she thought of Jon Snow. Even days later, the memory of his warm gaze sent a wave of heat through her. Her heart and body yearned to be near him, but her mind was not sure. Her thoughts on the Northern King were too jumbled to decide what actions to take.

Their current situation was too tenuous to jump into an affair without thought for the potential ramifications; although she could not put her finger on what those might be. She had left Daario in Mereen because she knew she did not need the distraction. Would this not be just such a distraction? She had also left him because she did not want to limit the possibilities of an alliance through marriage - could this be the right time for such an alliance?

That thought was too much. The whole situation was too much, so she avoided it. She did not return to his chamber. She also tried not to think about him, although she could not prevent the dreams that were only becoming more detailed. The shadowy man she used to dream of now had a face. A face with a gaze that seemed to see straight through to her very center and soft curls that fell around it as he moved over her.

Her afternoons were spent in pointless strategy sessions. Nothing new was ever decided - it was the same endless cycle of questions and hypotheticals.

"Cersei is slippery. Unpredictable. To try to guess at her reactions is foolishness! It will be like reasoning with the Mad King!" argued Davos, for at least the fourth time that week. Dany had long stopped being offended by these digs on her father. She was coming to accept that his legacy was something she would be fighting in the war for the people's hearts.

"I am aware of that, and that's why we must prepare for every eventuality," said Dany, "while we must not expect her to be immediately amenable to our suggestions, we can not go in expecting to fail. If we do, she will sense it and see it as weakness. I would. We cannot appear desperate."

"But you can't be making assumption, neither. Cersei is prideful, and will not like being ordered about."

"Of course we must be respectful, but not weak. I will go in with my armies at my back and my dragons above me," she replied. It still hurt when she remembered that only two dragons would be flying over the capital. But she could not dwell on that now.

"Are you sure it is wise to demonstrate your full strength? Would it not be prudent to keep some surprises for the Queen, should it come to war?" Jorah chimed in.

"Perhaps, but I will not be there to play games, and I need her to see that I am serious - both about the need for a truce and my ability to take her on if necessary,"

"We cannot allow her to feel threatened. To do so would only put you in unnecessary danger," replied Jorah, "to be honest, this whole endeavour strikes me as far too risky. What if it is a trap? You are too important to lose on some slight chance that you can convince the most ruthless woman in the Seven Kingdoms to lay aside her goals for the common good. Is it entirely necessary that you go yourself? Could you not send Jon Snow into the lion's den to reason with that mad woman?"

Daenerys sighed and gave Jorah a withering look. He was loyal, but his partiality for her was tiresome. That he would sacrifice Jon and risk this truce just so that she could sit idly by in relative safety was irksome.

"I will not let others fight this battle for me, and Jon Snow does not speak for me. I will be there to speak for myself. We have no hope of convincing Cersei to agree to our terms if I will not speak to her myself. She would feel at the least slighted, and at the worst decide it's a trap and burn both delegations to the ground. No, I must be there."

"Of course you should speak for yourself, your Grace, but let someone more expendable go in first. Please - "

"No! This discussion is over. I will be attending the parlay with Queen Cersei and _you_ will certainly not be stopping me," she was fuming. She was not sure exactly what upset her so much, but the idea of sitting at Dragonstone while Jon Snow or someone else stuck their neck out for her enraged her. " I would also thank you to not treat our allies as expendable, if it weren't for Jon Snow and his timely warning we would be wasting our resources on a war that will not matter in a few years time when the army of the dead has killed us all. He deserves your respect."

"Thank you for that, Your Grace," an unexpected voice said from behind her. She turned and saw Jon Snow standing in the doorway. She blushed and looked at her hands. She had gotten carried away, and she certainly hadn't meant for _him_ to hear that.

She was silent for several moments before Davos stepped in to her rescue.

"I am glad to see you are well, your Grace," he said warmly, stepping towards his King. She could not see them as they still stood near the door behind her.

"I am feeling much recovered, thank you. The guard told me I might find you here, I hope I am not interrupting."

Her heart was racing. She did not feel prepared to face them again, but she knew that to run and hide or remain silent now would be childish and unbecoming of a queen. So she turned, forced a smile and said, "of course not, I am glad you could join us. We were just discussing the best approach with Cersei. I would be grateful for your council."

He nodded and smiled stiffly, she could not quite read his expression as he walked towards the table.

"I'm afraid I don't know the Queen well, but I will help where I can," he said, joining them and taking a seat.

The conversation continued for quite awhile longer, and while Jon's fresh opinions were a welcome interruption to the predictable rhythms these meetings had adopted, the outcome was not significantly different. The talks would be delicate. The Queen was unpredictable. They would have to balance their interests carefully. They could not afford mistakes.

Jon

He had too much time to think. It took several days for him to regain his strength after nearly freezing to death, and all he could do in that time was think. He thought about the Night King and the army of the dead. He thought about whether returning South at this point was the best decision when the situation in the North felt so immediate. He thought about Queen Cersei and worried that she could not be reasoned with. But mostly, he thought about Daenerys.

He did not mean for it to, but his mind turned to her frequently. No matter what he tried to focus his mind on, she entered his thoughts almost immediately. He realized there was no point in fighting it, as he seemed trapped in this small bed in a small room for the foreseeable future, and there was no truly productive use of his time available to him.

He remembered how his breath caught the first time he saw her. On Dragonstone, he had denied that her beauty affected him, but the truth was that he could not ignore it. The way she looked in the flickering torchlight in the caves had been magnetic. He had not been able to stop himself from reaching out to her, and it had taken all his control to stop himself from doing something drastic.

Now that he had agreed to support her claim to the Iron Throne and she had decided to support the Northerners in the war against the others, he felt a deep satisfaction that they would likely be working together for months to come. There would be late nights spent huddled together over battle plans. Heated debates with sparks of passion radiating from her. Hours spent in council during which he would never have to look away from her.

He wished he could see her. She had not visited since he had first awoken. As the days went by, he began to worry that he may have overstepped. He had just awoken from what he later found out was days of restless sleep, could he have misread her? Was he imagining the warmth in her gaze? Did he see his own desires mirrored there out of pure self-indulgence? He tried not to dwell on these fears; he would have to gauge her reaction to him when he next saw her.

While Daenerys never came to his chambers, Davos visited him every day to give updates about their location and the discussions they had had about Queen Cersei. It was difficult, he had said, as those on board did not know her well, and Daenerys' best advisers remained on Dragonstone. Jon wondered why she did not simply fly back on Drogon, so that she could have the benefit of Lord Tyrion and Varys' combined knowledge of the capital. Perhaps the dragons were overtired.

After about a week, he finally felt strong enough to move about. He got up shakily and moved towards a small polished silver mirror in the corner of the room. He sighed at his appearance; he looked like death warmed over. He cleaned himself off a bit and dressed in his somewhat tattered clothes.

Making his way out of the room he had been in for the last several days, he found himself in a cramped corridor. Through a low doorway on the other end, he spotted one of the unsullied who manned the boat standing at attention.

"Excuse me," he started, and the serious man turned towards him, "could you tell me where I could find, uh, Ser Davos?" He could not bring himself to ask after Daenerys directly, but figured they would be in council as they often were at this time of day.

The man looked at him, and pointed to the door across from where he stood. Jon bowed his head in thanks and moved in the direction indicated.

As he pushed the door silently open, he heard Daenerys' voice, raised slightly in frustration " - thank you to not treat our allies as expendable, if it weren't for Jon Snow and his timely warning we would be wasting our resources on a war that will not matter in a few years time when the army of the dead has killed us all. He deserves your respect."

He was surprised and glad to hear her defend him. He would have liked to hear where the discussion was going, and wished he knew what she was responding to, but he realized that it would not do to linger in the doorway, so he made his presence known. He was gratified to see that his presence seemed to affect her, although he could not be sure why she blushed. She might be glad to see him, or just embarrassed to have been caught talking about him, or even ashamed at memories of their last conversation.

Knowing that this was not the time to figure out where he and the Queen stood, he focused back on the matter at hand.

The rest of the trip South followed a predictable pattern. Jon spent the afternoons with Daenerys, Jorah, and Davos going over strategy and planning for various possible scenarios, and his evenings in his chambers reading, thinking, or talking to Davos.

The afternoon sessions were both the best and the worst parts of his day. The proximity to Daenerys ripped him apart. One part of him, somewhere deep in his stomach, pulled towards her. His eyes found her of their own volition, his feet shuffled in her direction whenever he addressed her, his hands ached to reach out and touch hers, if only to confirm she was not a dream. Another part of him, one much more attached to his sense of reason, knew that to follow on any of these impulses would be nothing but foolishness. This part reminded him of the seriousness of the situation, the uncertainty that she returned his regard, and the inappropriateness of reaching for her in this context.

So he spent the hours taking one step towards her just to back up in the next moment, averting his gaze whenever she looked towards him, and carefully controlling every word that came out of his mouth to make sure he said nothing idiotic. But as difficult as the meeting were, it was much worse when they parted before the evening meal.

Daenerys

Daenerys was relieved when they finally arrived at Dragonstone. Every day she spent on the boat she felt herself gravitating more and more towards Jon Snow. She could feel his heated gaze on her during their strategy meetings. He had continued to haunt her dreams. Knowing he was only two cabins down had kept her awake; she knew from the looks he gave her that she need only ask and he would make those dreams a reality.

There were a couple of nights she had nearly gone to him, but her own uncertainty stopped her. While she could no longer deny that she desired him, her own vulnerability frightened her. When they sat in those stupid council meetings, her heart raced and her stomach fluttered. Her fantasies often moved from passionate touches and urging kisses to gentler scenes. She wanted to run her hands through his hair and gaze into his eyes, wanted to curl into his side for warmth and comfort on cold winter's nights, wanted to discuss policies and strategies with him for the rest of her life.

It was these fantasies that frightened her. She had not pictured a man by her side since Drogo had died. Daario had never been more than a means to an end, a way of filling a physical need without giving up any of her power or distracting her more than necessary. That Jon was distracting her so thoroughly when the stakes were so high terrified her.

So she was relieved. Relieved to finally be able to get some real distance between them. Relieved to have more people around, who would necessarily split her focus and her time. Relieved to finally be able to discuss her latest feelings with Missandei.

It was the night after they had returned, they sat in silence as Missandei was removing her braids for the evening.

"What do you think of Jon Snow?" she asked.

"Your Grace?" replied Missandei, seemingly confused, "I believe I already told you I believe he is a good man."

"Yes, he certainly is that," she said, and fell silent once again.

A few moments later, she started again. There was no point in skirting the issue, "I have been dreaming of him."

"Dreaming?" Daenerys looked at her, "Oh! I see, well I can certainly understand that. He is a handsome man, and he looks at you - well, he looks at you the way most men look at you."

Daenerys had to laugh at that, it was true. There were many men who looked at her with a certain fire in their eyes; but somehow Jon was different.

"I am not sure that is exactly true, his gaze has a softness I have rarely seen. Most men look at me like a prize they hope to win. He - he looks at me like he knows who I am, or that he at least wishes to find out."

"So what do you wish to do?"

"That, I am not sure. I could take him as a lover, I am almost certain he would agree to it - although if he shares his father's sense of honor that might be more of a challenge. But even so, there are so many things to consider - it would not, perhaps, be wise. We have Kingdoms to rule, there are multiple wars to win."

"Yes, and you must keep a wary eye on your priorities, but that does not need to forestall all else. If he is a distraction at a distance as it s now, why not bring him closer? Perhaps it will allow you to think more clearly, if you are not preoccupied with questions, but rather know what you have, and where you stand."

"I suppose so. I just fear that becoming closer to him would be a mistake. That we would lose focus. That it would become a weakness, one which my enemies could exploit. "

Missandei looked at her carefully, "this is not the time for fear, Your Grace."

Jon

That had gone, quite honestly, terribly. He had really ruined it all. They had decided, they were agreed. He would be a neutral third party. Cersei could not see them as a unified opposition, she needed to believe a renewed relationship with the North was still possible.

But he had hoped the point would not be pressed today. That the mad Queen would allow the North to remain neutral until the ultimate threat was neutralized and the political games returned to their typical status. He had hoped that by the time he had to publicly declare a side, the Northern threat would be neutralized and alliances would have been clearly formed. But that was not what had happened.

He had not been able to lie. Perhaps that made him a fool, but he did not feel a fool in that moment. He was proud. Proud of himself and the man he had become, proud of his father and the honour he had taught, and proud of his Queen. Proud of her willingness to set aside her own goals and ambitions to ensure the safety of her people, and her ability to come and humble herself in this arena. He simply could not deny her, seeing her there, she was more beautiful and commanding than he ever imagined a woman could be.

After the delegation from King's' Landing had left, he had moved away from the others. Tyrion was right, he thought ruefully to himself, brooding was what he did best. He picked up one of the tiny bones that littered the pit. He could not believe that it came from the same magnificent creatures that Daenerys rode. He wondered what had happened.

While he was lost in thought, she came towards him. Normally, his eyes would be drawn intractably towards her, but now he could not look at her. One quick glance had shown him icy eyes burning with disappointment and a hint of anger. He could not face that he had let her down. She meant so much to him now, and from her glare he knew that he had lost her.

"No one is less happy about this than I am," he said, looking at the bone in his hand instead of her. He braced himself dot the verbal lashing he expeted. But it did not come.

"I know," her voice was softer than he ever could have believed, "I respect what you did; wish you hadn't done it, but I respect it."

Well, that was better than what he could have hoped for; and surprising close to his own feelings on the matter. She moved towards him, reached out her hand, and took the jaw bone he held, shaking her head.

Suddenly she was talking about the Dragon Pit, her family, and all that they had lost. As she spoke, they moved farther from the others - still gathered near the dais - and he felt a welling of sadness for her. That she felt her power was linked to her dragons was clear, and the guilt he held for the loss of her Dragon renewed itself once again. But, no, her dragons were not the source of her power. She was. On her own, she was extraordinary. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. And the dragons were the proof of that, not the cause. She needed to know that. He needed to know that she understood it.

"You are not like everyone else," he said, solemnly, praying she would believe him and understand him, "and your family hasn't seen it's end. You're still here."

"I can't have children," she said. This was not the first time she had mentioned it, and he wondered why she was so determined he understand that point. Was she offering herself to him? Was she trying to warn him away? He was not sure. He also wondered how she could possibly be sure of that. He had heard of women who had been unable to have children for years becoming pregnant. He had heard of women who everyone thought too old giving birth to infants wholly unexpectedly. He had not heard of a foolproof method of etermining sterility, especially not in one so young.

"Who told you that?"

"The witch who murdered my husband."

A witch. A witch had told her she was barren and she had clearly based her life's ambitions around this information. He had known witches. He had seen how they could be wrong. He had seen how they could lead men to their deaths with their false promises. He was starting to believe that whatever a witch said, the opposite was likely true. For example, despite what the red witch said, he was almost certainly not the Prince who was Promised, instead he was one of many soldiers against the army of the dead.

"Has it occurred to you that she might not have been a reliable source of information?"

To this, she smiled and looked briefly away. He had the uncomfortable sense that she had additional evidence of her sterility, but he tried not to dwell on it. This thought was not assuaged when she quickly changed the subject.

"You were right from the beginning. If I had trusted you, everything would be different," she said, but he was not sure that was true, He also had the distinct feeling he was being placated. Regardless, the past could not be changed. It was time to think about the future.

"So what now?"

"I can't forget what I saw north of the wall, and I can't pretend that Cersei won't take back half the country the moment I march north."

There it was. The unsurmountable strategical problem they faced. There was no clear way forward. If they marched north, the Kingdoms would fall under Cersei's tyrannical rule. If they did not, it was possible no one would survive the winter. Dividing their forces would likely result in failure on both fronts. There was no good solution. The situation would be comical, if it weren't so serious.

"It would appear Tyrion's assessment was correct," she looked at him quizzically, "we're fucked."

At this, she smiled. So did he. It was all they had in that moment; a shared smile in face of unsurmountable danger. Slowly the laughter melted off their faces. His breath caught in the sudden intensity between them. He was closer to her than he realised. The air was thick with something unspoken. He could just reach out and…

The sound of footsteps caught his attention and he stepped back, away from her. The moment was over and they both moved out of their secluded alcove. Tyrion had returned. Apparently he had not been murdered, and the conference was to recommence. This was good news, although Jon felt an unbidden twinge of disappointment and resentment.

As he followed Daenerys back towards the center of the arena, he reflected on the moment that had passed between them. Ever since she saved them from the army of the dead, there had been an intensity between them. He was sure now that whatever was happening was inevitable, but something prevented him from reaching out and taking it. It all seemed too much. The power in the air when they spoke was one thing. But the idea of what actually touching her, holding her in his arms, frightened him. He feared he would be lost. Burned up by the flames he saw in her gaze. But he longed to burn.


	4. Chapter 4 - North Again

Chapter 4 - North Again

DAENERYS

The meeting with the Queen couldn't have gone better, really. Dany knew that, yet she had a feeling of unease she was unable to shake. The problem was that it should not have gone that well. Everything she had heard about Cersei told her her not to feel fully secure in their alliance. Well, she thought, they must have convinced her, and now there were more pressing matters.

They would be meeting soon to go over strategy going forward. They had lost most of the fleet taking Casterly rock, and they must make plans to transport their armies North as quickly and as safely as possible. It seemed ridiculous that they had traveled all the way back to King's Landing just to return as far North as Winterfell and she did not like leading her forces away when the Lannisters held the Iron throne, but Dany knew she could only trust that the throne would be hers once the dead were defeated, and stick to the plan.

She reached her chambers and found a freshly drawn bath. The tub steamed in the chill air. Missandei, who had walked with her in silence from the great hall where she had parted from her other advisers, helped her out of her clothes. As she lowered herself into the hot water, Dany felt the tension melt from her neck and shoulders. The heat of the water would scald anyone else, but for her it felt like coming home.

She sighed and leaned back, dipping her long silver hair in the water so that it billowed around her head like the white clouds that hung over Blackwater Bay. Missandei stepped forward and began washing the locks, taking care to remove any tangles caused by the wind that whipped through it as she rode Drogon over the bay.

"What did you think of the Capital?" Daenerys asked.

"It is like any city. Too many people, not enough space. Every man trying so hard to be survive that he does not realize he is not living. The people of King's Landing might not be slaves, but they are also not free."

"I suppose that is true. What did you think of Queen Cersei? Do you believe she may be trusted?"

"I do not know, my Queen. I only know that what she has done in the past, and I would not turn my back to her when it might be avoided."

"Quite right," Daenerys replied, and fell silent once again.

"The Northern King certainly proved his loyalty today," said Missandei a few minutes later, breaking the soporific silence of the warm room.

"Yes, he did. Although I do not know that it was a wise move. We would have likely been better off had he maintained an image of neutrality." replied Daenerys.

"No, perhaps it was not wise. But then, men in love often behave as fools."

"I suppose that is true," Daenerys sighed, "ruling would be much easier if not so many men fell in love with me."

"Easier, maybe, but would you rather he looked at you coldly?"

Daenerys smiled, "no, I don't think I would."

They met the next day in the room with the carved map of the country. They would be travelling north as quickly as possible, bringing all her armies to Winterfell to protect the living from the dead. Sometimes, when she thought about the war in front of them and the enemy they faced, Daenerys was overwhelmed. She felt like a child once more, facing down her unfathomable future as her brother's Queen.

But she was not a child. She had experience now. She knew how to rule. She knew how to lead. She knew how to get what she wanted. For now, she would make the best decisions she could at each turn and lead her people in the direction she saw most likely to gain them a victory and keep them alive through the winter. She could not dwell too much on the future and all of its vague uncertainties. She had to stand, unafraid, and take each day as it came.

When it was suggested that she remain at Dragonstone while her armies travelled North only to meet them on dragonback later, she found herself oddly disappointed. She saw the logic in it, she would be safer. However, she did not want to appear the coward and would prefer to travel with her advisers and her armies.

Then there was the way Jon Snow looked at her when he said they should be seen as allies by the men in the North. He was imploring, and the idea of sailing together, stuck on a small boat for two weeks or longer, sent a shiver down her spine. She knew she had to make this decision logically, but when the logic and the personal line up so well, why not accept it?

"I've not come to concur the North, I've come to save the North." This she addressed to those she feared would try to dissuade her, most notably Jorah. He was loyal, but he could be too protective of her.

She then turned, and fixed a meaningful look on Jon Snow "We sail together."

She watched his reaction closely, hoping he understood everything she had meant with this short speech. They would go to war, and they would go together. They would be in close quarters. They would not be parted.

On the other side of the room, Jorah grimaced. She felt a brief pang of regret at hurting him, but could not think of anything to say that would not inform the rest of the assembled council of everything that had passed quietly between her and Jon Snow.

JON

They were to depart at dawn the next day, riding the receding tide out of the mouth of Blackwater Bay. After that, it would be at least two weeks — if they had favorable winds — until they reached White Harbor. Two weeks on a ship with little to do except wait. He allowed his mind to wander North, to a snug boat on a tossing sea.

The last time, on the trip back from Eastwatch, he had been injured and weak. He had also been afraid. Afraid of the pull he felt towards Daenerys Targaryen, so beautiful and sad and untouchable. She had been a vision when he had woken from his pained sleep, and that vision had haunted him ever since.

He was not so afraid anymore. While his heart still stuttered and his breath quickened when he thought of her, he had made up his mind. He could not allow whatever was between them to go on in unspoken words and lingering glances any longer; he would not be able to take it. Seeing her, being around her, was intoxicating. The thought of being close to her, of allowing himself to open up to her was terrifying. The only thought more terrifying was that he might never get the chance. He would go to her on the boat. He would kiss her, tell her everything he felt.

This thought made him warm despite the cold air coming off the wintry sea. His mind filled with images of cascading silver hair and expanses of cream skin. He remembered the heat of her hand in his and wondered if her lips burned as hotly.

The first day of the boat journey was slow. The wind out of the East made it harder than they had hoped to clear Blackwater Bay and the day was more than half gone before they were able to head North on a long tack in the direction of White Harbor.

The Queen and her advisers would meet each afternoon to go over the plan, again. Jon had always thought planning and strategy were important, but he also felt that these meetings were quickly becoming redundant. The plan as it stood was essentially to get themselves and the Queen's armies to Winterfell, where they could regroup with the Northern troops, find out some more information on the enemy, and devise a more specific plan going forward. Beyond that, they were only dealing in hypotheticals. What if the Night King has an objective we don't understand? How effective would dragonfire be? How long will it take for the Army of the Dead to move south of the wall? On and on, questions without answers and information they didn't have.

The meetings were saved, Jon thought, by Daenerys' eyes. The way they flashed when her authority was challenged. The way they lit up with a secret mirth when Tyrion and Davos argued some point of minute importance. The way they warmed when they were turned to Jon. He could watch her eyes all day, and never be bored.

One evening, a few days into the journey, Jon found more or less alone with the Queen after the evening meal. Grey Worm and Missandei had disappeared soon after they had finished eating, and Davos had pulled Tyrion and Ser Jorah into his cabin to look over the maps and calculate various distances and travel times.

He looked at her. The light from the lamps above her head made her hair shine like liquid gold. Her eyes were wide in the low light of the ship at night. Before he could think to do anything beyond drink in her beauty, she spoke.

"Tell me about Winterfell," she said.

He was surprised, they had discussed the cities fortifications just that afternoon, and he knew she could probably find it on a map in her sleep.

"Well, the castle in the center is protected by walls a hundred feet high, and beyond that, surrounding the city, is another set of walls. These are not quite so high but - ,"

"No, I know all that," she said, interrupting him. "What I meant was, tell me about what it was like when you were a boy. Tell me about your family, your home."

"Oh," he said, even more surprised. "Well, the castle is always warm. Even when the wind howls blistering cold and the snows fall thick on the ground, the castle chambers are as warm as a spring day. The courtyards are always busy — the Starks don't hold themselves on too much ceremony, you see — full of women doing their washing, and boys fighting with sticks. My brothers and I, we used to practice archery in the central courtyard, just next to the stables. My little sister, Arya, she would —"

He stopped. It pained him to think of Arya. His bright little sister who would rather shoot a bow than do her needlework. No one had seen her since the day their father was killed. If she yet lived, she would be almost a woman now. Not the little sister he remembered anymore. It was likely she did not live, though.

"Well, she would try to show us all up, even though she was but a slip of a thing."

"I can understand that," said Daenerys, looking at him closely.

"Is that so? Do you have a talent with a bow and arrow then, my Queen?" He asked, with humor in his voice.

"Well no, but I did have an older brother."

"Ah, yes, of course. Did he teach you to fight?"

"In a way, but let's not talk about him. My childhood was not like yours. I had almost no family and no really home. We were only ever guests."

She sounded sad, but the set of her chin was stubborn and strong. He wished he could make it better for her. Bring back her mother and her elder brother and give her the life she deserved. But he couldn't. The world had come too far. It was too dark now.

"I am sorry. It is not good to be alone."

"No, it is not. I would wish to be so anymore. I wish —"

She broke off. One of the women who worked in the Galley had entered the room they were in to clear away the supper dishes.

When they were alone once more, Daenerys turned back to him and fixed him with a look that pierced him in the heart. His breath caught.

"I find I am tired, I will retire to my cabin. I hope we might continue this conversation very soon," she said softly. Then, she rose from her seat gracefully and swept from the dining cabin.

Jon sat, staring at the spot where she had disappeared from view, and tried to gather his wits. He would not usually be considered a simpleton, but at the moment there was not much in his head aside from a soft humming noise that seemed to block out all rational thought. _I hope we might continue this conversation very soon._ How soon? The way she had been looking at him, he thought he understood her meaning quite well.

It was all he could do to not follow directly behind her to her cabin. He knew it would be more prudent to return to his own — and be seen returning to his own — and then go to her following the shift change.

The two hours he waited were two of the most painful of his life. He thought he might rather fight the entire Army of the Dead than wait one more minute. Eventually, the bell rang signalling the changing of the watch, and he knew the wait was almost over. Suddenly, instead of anxious impatience he felt a small knot of apprehension form in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps he had misunderstood her. Perhaps she would find offence at his appearance at her door. What if he woke her and she was displeased?

He released a breath. No. He would go. He could not go one more day without being sure.

When sufficient time had passed, Jon stepped out of his cabin, checked that the hall was empty, and moved quietly aft towards Daenerys' chamber. He paused briefly outside the ornate door. Steeling himself, he knocked. He held his breath as the door opened.

He was caught in her gaze. It simultaneously comforted and frightened him. He held her look, waiting for her to question him; he half expected her to demand why he was there and tell her what he wanted. The questions never came, instead, she stepped slightly to the side. A silent invitation.

He stepped inside, never breaking her gaze, and closed the door.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Cabin

She had not been so unsure in years, not since her brother was alive. She had known that, no matter the immediate setback, she was on the right track. She would prevail. She would make the right decision in the end. Any failures she might encounter were the product of circumstance, and not a threat to her rightful place as Queen.

Now, her sense of certainty had faltered. These last weeks with the Northern King had shaken her more than she liked to admit. She felt pulled in opposite directions. Pulled between duty and Love. She knew that she had already compromised for this softness in her heart. Allowing him to distract her with this campaign to the North, when she should have been focussed on retaking the Red Keep.

She was not even sure that what she was experiencing *was* love. It may be simply attraction, which would make what she had risked even more foolish. For all her power and determination, she had little experience in the matters of the heart. Falling in love with Drogo had been a matter of circumstance and a means to an end. Her love for her husband had been true, but not organically achieved.

With Daario, it had been even less complicated. She had never loved him. She had desired him, and he was a pleasant distraction when it was convenient. In the end, he had been little more to her than a plaything.

Jon was different. Already she felt she would be destroyed if she lost him. This time, loving him was the farthest thing from convenient and if anything distanced her from her political goals. A good Queen would protect herself and be prepared to double-cross her rival the moment it was prudent to do so.

But she could not imagine that. As strongly as her body yearned for his, her heart longed as strongly for him to be safe and happy. The simple idea of hurting him caused her enough pain that she could not entertain the idea further, let alone plan for a strategy to the throne that involved hurting him in any way. Her only hope politically was that he was as weakened as she, and would not betray her.

She could no longer envision a future without him, and could only pray that he had understood her words earlier that evening. That he would seek her company before she had to degrade herself further and make her desires even more plain.

She had been alone in her cramped quarters for too long now,she was sure that if he intended to come to her tonight, he would have done so already. She was about to exit the room to locate Missandei and ask for her assistance when a knock came at the door.

Her heart nearly stopped. She had been quietly hoping to hear that knock for weeks. But now she was unsure, perhaps it was her handmaiden come to help her prepare to retire, or an advisor visiting late at night to discuss a battle plan or diplomatic strategy, The knock itself was quietly unfamiliar, enough so that she allowed herself to hope as she reached for the handle.

She swung the door open, her heart in her throat and her breath caught on a prayer, to find him standing in front of her. He was beautiful and nervous, clearly unsure of his reception.

Her gaze caught in his for just a moment and she could read the question there, asking if he was welcomed. She had no words to answer him, so instead she stepped aside to let him into the small cabin.

He stepped into the room, his gaze never leaving hers, and the door closed with a soft but definite thud behind him. She returned his gaze as steadily as she could, her heart was racing and her breath came with shallow rapidity. She could not remember if her cabin had always been so small. It felt as though the room had shrunk when Jon walked in.

He was standing so close she could feel his breath against her cheek; it came quick - nervous.

His eyes were searching hers. He seemed to be looking for the right words, or perhaps just he was just trying to summon the courage to give voice to words he already knew.

She did not need to hear the words she could read on his face. She had had the same thoughts racing around and around her mind for days. Even weeks. _I want you, I'm afraid. I don't know what it means. Is this a terrible idea? I don't care. It will be worth the sacrifice._

So, rather than allowing him to speak, she acted. She moved forward, just slightly, and brought her lips to his. The kiss was soft, gentle. She brought a hand up and laced it through the curls at the back of hi neck, holding his head in place for a moment.

All too soon, he pulled back - just slightly- and held her gaze, steady despite his ragged breath and the hum of emotion that seemed to fill the room and set her body buzzing.

"My Queen, I - " he said, so softly she would not have heard him were he not so close, "you must allow me to tell you…" he trailed off.

"I know," she replied, and leaned back to recapture his lips with hers. They fit together perfectly; his lips were warm and soft, she felt she could lose all track of time and consequence kissing him. She relaxed against him with a sigh and felt his hands wrap around her and settle on her lower back, supporting her and preventing her from pulling away.

His lips were soft and insistent; pushing into hers and then pulling away just enough to make her chase them back and draw him back in. He was not going to allow her to be passive. She could not allow him to stop kissing her. Touching her. His touch sent fire through her; coursing from her lips to her lungs and settling deep in her belly.

She moved slowly backwards, toward the large berth she had been given, pulling him along with her with each step, never losing connection. Finally, her legs hit the soft fabric of her bed, and she sat down upon it. He remained standing, but their eyes remained locked together even as their bodies parted.

In the warm candlelight of her cabin, she could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the wide pupils making his dark eyes appear fully black, and the slight openness of his lips which told her he was lost for words. All she wanted was to be close to that chest, to see the eyes blown wide in pleasure, feel those lips against her skin. Without breaking eye-contact, she reached to the neck of her thick wool gown and slowly began to pull the knots from the stays, allowing the fabric to fall open. With the dress unfastened, she shrugged out of it and it pooled around her. As it fell away from her shoulders, she could see his breath hitch as his eyes left hers and travelled downwards.

Although she had dreamt of this moment many times, considered it even in waking hours when she had allowed her mind to wander on slow evenings when there was nothing to do but wait, she found herself suddenly nervous. She felt exposed, vulnerable. She trusted him completely yet felt that he could break her so easily. She could feel the flush creeping up her neck and wanted to grab a blanket from behind her and cover herself. She had not been this nervous around a man since she was first married.

Just as her nerves might have failed her, Jon's eyes returned to hers and she found herself suddenly calm. His gaze was steady and full of promise. She grabbed his hand and guided him to sit beside her on the bed, where she leaned over and recaptured his lips once more.

The moment she pulled him to sit beside her he felt his hesitation vanish. He had been left utterly speechless when she removed her gown. She was beautiful. He needed nothing except for her. When she kissed him again it sparked something deep inside him.

He pushed gently against her shoulder, urging her to lay down, swiftly following her with his own body hovering just a hair's breadth above her. He could feel her warmth radiating along the length of her exposed body, and wished he were not wearing so many layers. He kissed her firmly, his left hand winding itself into her silver hair while his right hand worked its way down her side, feeling the swell of her breast and the curve of her waist.

He was lost in her. His heart pounded and his lungs burned from lack of breath. His hands explored her body; moving down her sides and then back up to cup a perfectly soft breast. His fingers once dragged against a pebbled nipple, drawing a moan from deep within her. She shifted, arching off the bed to press firmly against him.

Suddenly, removing the layers between them was more important than maintaining his connection to her, so with more resolve than he knew he had, he pulled away from her lips. Immediately, he caught her eyes instead. He saw his own emotions reflected back there. Her breath was ragged, her pupils blown wide.

She tried to pull him back to her, but he held firm.

"Wait," he told her. Before the disappointment could register in her eyes, he explained "I need to feel you and these leathers are far too uncomfortable."

A beautiful mischievous look immediately took over her features and her small hands came up to help him with the lacing of his outer layers. They made quick work of his clothes, leaving them strewn across the cabin. Immediately after the last bit of material fell to the floor, Jon was on her once more, kissing her as though she was all that was left in the world.

His hands explored every inch of her; teasing her nipples and then inching tantalizingly lower across her stomach. His lips moved from hers to explore her jaw, and then her throat. He found a point where her shoulder met her neck that made her gasp when his lips brushed it. He focused on this pint, nipping and licking and sucking, causing her to writhe beneath him in a way that made him ache.

"Jon," she breathed against his ear, "please."

"Soon," he said, "be patient."

His hands moved from her hips across her thighs, teasing and slow. She gasped lighty, a whine escaping her lips in what was clearly annoyance. Grinning against her skin, he moved the fingers of his right hand to her damp folds, caressing. She was so warm, and he was so hard, He was desperate to take her, but he wanted to be sure she was fully ready. As his thumb brushed against the sensitive nerves at her peak, he felt her reach into his hair, tugging him to her face. He kissed her hard, his hand still working between her legs.

Still kissing him, she pressed her hand against his shoulder. He thought for a moment that she was pushing him away, but as he pulled back, she followed him with her lips and body, rolling them over in one fluid motion.

"That is enough waiting. Please, let me have you," she looked at him with such intense passion that he could deny her nothing. He simply nodded as she adjusted her position over him, lining herself up with his straining cock before sliding down.

As he entered her, it seemed the world tilted on its axis. Although, that may have just been the a large wave hitting the hull of the ship. All he was sure of, in that moment, was that he never wanted to let her go. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the flesh there, as she moved herself rhythmically against him. She moved with skill, gripping and releasing and teasing in such a way that he feared this would be over too soon.

He pulled her back down to him and kissed her soundly. Holding her body close to his, he rolled them over, re-entering her swiftly and looking down at the woman he loved so much he feared it would kill him. He kept his gaze locked with hers, praying she read his love for her in them.

He filled her so completely she could hardly breathe. The look in his eyes lit her heart on fire. He moved inside her so perfectly that she felt she might break open; the pleasure in her body and earnest adoration in his eyes combining to tear down the walls she had built around herself. She felt shattered yet whole.

He kissed her once more and she raised up against him. Pressing herself firmly against the entirely length of her body as shed peaked, her pleasure crashing over her in waves. Her heart leapt and seized and she thought she never never been happier than in that moment; pressed close to the Northern King and shaking in his arms as they became one.


End file.
